Here Is A Heart
by ectograsp
Summary: Bay finally convinced Emmett to stop waiting around, but when he is seriously hurt after mysteriously going for a ride on his motorbike in the middle of the night, she is forced to look at what she really wants, and why she's been holding back. Post 2x10.
1. Chapter 1

/ / /AN: Hi! This is my first Switched at Birth story. There are so few out there, and I'm hoping to pad out the archives a little for this underappreciated show . I'm not using any particular font setting to indicate signing, but when communication is between one or more deaf characters, I hope it's clear that sign language is being used by the way it's written. This fic takes place shortly after 2x11, is AU from that point on and assumes one small change – Regina has not gone to rehab yet. Please enjoy!/ / /

Bay lives in a world where dread centres on the sudden ring of a telephone in the middle of the night; a brutish blade of sound in the quiet. Terror distilled into a shrill mechanical cry and a soundwave that pierces her heart like a cruel finger. She only remembers one time in her life when the landline has rung after midnight. Her grandfather had been found dead in his apartment.

A knock at the front door, this late, would alarm her – but less so, because so many people live here now that it's bound to happen more often when someone forgets their keys. Nevertheless, that muffled sound – so welcome in daylight hours – is worrisome in the dark, and without meaning to, she always looks at her window for the bright flash of sirens, and waits for footsteps coming up the stairs which signal the return of a family member, and nothing more.

A knock on her own door, she never thought to dread. It's always been Toby, checking his cover story after sneaking out, or showing her song lyrics in a fit of inspiration and pride that carries him through to morning. Or her dad, making sure she's still in her room at all; her mom, gentle and worried, unable to sleep because of some mother's instinct that tells her Bay is upset or angry or scared. Once, when Wilke slept over because he was drunk, he'd knocked on her door and started warbling a Guitar Face song to her, until her horrified brother wrestled him away.

Nowadays, she'd expect Daphne. Although she's never actually knocked on Bay's door after midnight before, she is the one who knows the most of her secrets; has the most reason to confer in private, or confront her away from the prying eyes and ears of their family. And when this knock comes – three short, sharp bangs which come not from knocking but from pounding on a door – Bay is startled out of near-sleep and jack-knifes in her bed, eyes still focussing when the door flies open and Daphne stands in the light of the hallway. And she's not frightened.

Yet.

'What's going on?' Bay asks, and her signing stumbles a little because she's so caught off guard. In the second it takes her hands to catch up to her brain, she realizes with a sickening jolt that Daphne is radiating panic – the widened whites of her eyes are eerie in the shadows. Her hands are still moving when Daphne answers the question.

'Emmett was in an accident!' she cries. Her hands jerk the same message.

And Bay learns what fear is in the same way she imagines a person who has been totally deaf their whole lives might suddenly experience sound. It's not there – has never been there, even though you think you kind of understand it – and then it IS.

Her heart seems to explode in her chest; she stares open mouthed at Daphne, choking on her voice. A line of frost races up her back like a poisonous spider and she's consumed with a visceral need to hold Emmett's hand really, really tight and never let go and she's forced to clench her fingers over her sheets instead.

'He's in the hospital, come on!'

Melody had called Regina from the hospital, who woke Daphne, who in her frantic rush to the car had decided it was a good idea to tell Bay, despite everything, and fled up to her room. In seconds they ran out to the already-running car, Regina tense and ram-rod straight in the driver's seat – without saying anything, they both passed on the front seat and ran to opposite side-doors, jumping inside and sitting, shaking, together. Holding hands.

'What. Happened,' Bay gritted out. Her voice sounded alien.

'He sneaked out on his motorcycle,' Regina said tightly. 'He was hit by a car. Melody got a call when the emergency room nurse identified him from the school ID in his wallet.'

'And is he okay? I mean – how bad is it?'

'I don't know. Melody didn't know. She just wanted us to come.'

She realizes her voice sounds alien because she is crying. She realizes it when she tears her hand away from Daphne to cover her mouth with her hands so she doesn't cry out, and her face is wet.

The last time she saw Emmett was at school. He'd told her about Noah and Daphne. And she had accused him of being jealous, and not believed him, and after months of clinging to hope that they would be together again, he had finally told her he wasn't waiting around anymore, which was what she had thought she wanted – but she'd watched him walk away and felt... awful. She had spent so long wishing he would let up on her – just be her friend, and forget what they used to be. And now the chips had fallen and she wanted nothing more than to take it all back, because she loves him, and she knows – too late, because it is a knowledge that comes only when terrible things shake you awake – that fighting it was pointless, and being with him would have been worth everything she was afraid of.

She forgot to put on shoes. You know how sometimes when something's happening, you just know which bits are going to stick in your memory? If Emmett dies, this is what she'll remember. Her bare feet, and how they felt plodding along the grey linoleum, and how she could look straight down at them and how pale they were because Regina was leading her by the hand like a child. She'll remember Daphne in her doorway, and her bare feet, and whatever it is that Melody says when they find her.

They turn a corner, and she hears Regina breathe 'oh my God' – and she looks up. Melody is sitting in a plastic chair in a waiting room – they're in a waiting room (how did Regina know to go here?). Her head is buried in her hands.

All three of them run, and Regina shakes Melody's shoulder when they reach her. Melody moves so fast it's like she's been shocked; she sits up, and her proud, hard face is streaked with tears, and when she sees Regina she kind of gasps.

'How's Emmett?'

Regina and Daphne ask at the same time – Bay is frozen.

'He's in surgery,' Melody signs. 'He has a concussion and a fractured skull. His shoulder is dislocated, he has two broken ribs and his right leg is broken. His lung collapsed. There are signs of internal bleeding so they have to do exploratory surgery as well.'

Emmett's injuries stack up in Bay's head and a stubborn, childish voice in her head says no, no, no… but it isn't even convincing itself.

Melody visibly sags when she reaches the end of her macabre list, and without warning she kicks out angrily. 'The car that hit him was going ten miles over the speed limit.'

Bay bursts into tears.

It is loud, and ugly, but Bay doesn't even care – this is how she feels, because a body she loves was scraped along the road, battered and bleeding. The boy she is in love with is hurt. Regina's face crumples and she pulls Bay into her side with one arm, the other on Melody's shoulder. Daphne has sunk into the chair beside her, face completely white. Melody herself is wrecked, a mess of a woman, ravaged with worry, and Bay is the weak one because she can't stop crying – tears pour down her cheeks and she crosses her arms to hold her chest together and tries to stop, but she can't. Melody looks up at her and Bay looks down before she can meet her eyes. She hates herself.

Emmett.

They wait.

At some point, Regina's phone rings – it's Kathryn, wondering where the hell they all are. She steps away to take the call, and when she comes back, she says 'Kathryn's coming. She wants to be with you girls.'

And Mighty Mother Kathryn is there within twenty minutes. She bowls her way towards them, and Bay, whose brain is moving as slow as molasses, barely registers her presence before her mother slams into her and hugs her so tightly she can't breathe. Bay, who is a perfunctory hugger when it comes to her parents, holds her just as tightly, so she doesn't have to hold herself up.

'Mom…' she sobs. Because Kathryn has always been able to make everything better for Bay. She kissed scraped knees and put chamomile lotion on mosquito bites and made her soup when she was sick. She is the Fixer of the Medical Malady and a tiny part of Bay feels like her presence will help Emmett somehow, if she can make Kathryn understand how important Emmett is – just as much as Bay and Toby, and even though he's hurt her children. She wants Kathryn to forget everything Bay's ever said about being over Emmett and magically understand exactly how she's feeling – like if Emmett dies, she will actually die too.

'Oh, honey…' Kathryn whispers into her hair. And Bay can tell that she does understand what Emmett means to her – hears it in the crack in her voice, the one she gets when she is afraid for her child – because she's afraid for Bay now, and what might become of her.

But there's no solution she can offer. No mother's magic that can save Emmett just because Bay cares so much. Bay can hear that in her voice too. And even though it's not Kathryn's fault, she can't help but feel a crushing sense of disappointment. She hadn't thought she could feel any worse.

Kathryn breaks the hug – the first one to pull away for the first time in years. She holds Bay's face, and kisses her on the forehead. Bay senses Daphne approaching and sees her mother reach out for her other daughter. She steps back to let them hug.

'Is there any news? Is he still in surgery?' Kathryn asks eventually, as Daphne returns to her seat. Bay grabs her mother's hand.

'No news,' Regina answers. Melody twitches her lips in greeting to Kathryn, like she was going to force a smile and realized how false it would be.

They learn that Emmett was on Blue River Road when it happened; it was raining, and he skidded around a corner on wet asphalt and was hit by a speeding car. A combination of bad luck and bad timing. He was thrown off and hit the road, hard. The driver called an ambulance, and had already spoken to the police, who arrested him for reckless driving and endangerment.

His father and Olivia are driving in from their vacation in Colorado.

After a while, they all end up sitting in a row in the too-short plastic chairs in the waiting room. Bay has Daphne on her left side and Kathryn on her right – she holds Kathryn's hand, but it's Daphne she feels closer to in that moment. It's the same way it's always been between them. They may fight, and they may not always like each other, but when it comes down to it, they understand each other in ways nobody else can.

Daphne's eyes are red rimmed, and she seems constantly on the verge of tears. Just like Bay. The five of them sit and wait for so long that Melody's silent anguish and the nervous, fearful vigilance of their two mothers – who look up every time a door opens, or footsteps sound, because they need someone to come and comfort the daughters that they for once have nothing to offer – grows unbearable, and Bay finds Daphne's eyes and without speaking, they agree.

'We're going to get and get some coffee,' Bay says, surprised at the hoarseness of her voice as it forces itself from a throat tight from stress and trying not to cry. She stands up, and Daphne quickly follows. 'Mom, Regina, you want some?'

'Yes please –'

'No, thank you.'

She turns hesitantly to Melody, and taps her gently on the shoulder. Melody looks at her. There's no contempt, like in the early days of her and Emmett's relationship, or open dislike, like after he moved out and she had no reason to pretend. There's no authority or sternness in her face, no schoolteacher mask. She's staring right at Bay, but isn't really seeing her.

'Coffee?' Bay signs. Melody shakes her head and looks down again.

She and Daphne only go as far as around the corner, and then they sit at the base of the wall, away from the women whose inaction is shocking because they've always been able to fix things before.

Bay can't stop shivering. She thinks she might be in shock. Can that happen when the person you're in love with is hurt? Can you hate it so much that your body literally starts to fight back?

'I can't believe this,' she croaks; turned towards Daphne, who reads her lips and grimaces like the words hurt her. 'I know.'

She can't stop thinking about him. About what the hell he was doing out on the road in the middle of the night. About whether he was scared when the car hit him; whether he knew what was happening; if it hurt. She wonders if he wished she was with him; she wonders if she would have been, if she'd just been brave enough to let him in again – maybe he would have invited her along.

She swipes a tear away angrily.

Maybe she would have told him it was a stupid idea and he would have listened to her, and stayed home, and not gotten hurt – but maybe she would have been there too, and a million different things she might have done could have saved him. Maybe, at the very least, she could have been with him. She would take getting hit by the car as well, for that. She keeps imagining him lying on the road, hurt and bleeding and scared, with no one but the asshole who hit him, who couldn't talk to him in a way Emmett could understand, or do anything to help at all.

She keeps thinking about how hard Emmett has tried for her – all those times he'd say something that literally stole her breath because he never hesitated to remind her that he was still in love with her. God – most guys don't say that to girls they're with, let alone ones who turn them down over and over again, even for a good reason.

She keeps thinking about how happy she was when they were together, and how it only hurt so much when he cheated on her because it was so good. How she has only been so scared for so long because being hurt was so bad. You don't stay angry for so long about someone you don't truly still love. You don't feel sick about the possibility of losing someone you don't want so bad your blood sings with it. You don't find it so hard to forgive unless you know that forgiveness, for you, doesn't mean moving on, but going back.

She keeps thinking about the million moments together where she wasn't quite as brave as she wanted to be.

_**Before First 'I Love You'**_

_They hadn't seen each other for two days; Bay was working on a painting. To this day, it's one of her favourites; an abstract oil piece, all made up of little flecks of bright colour like a Mexican embroidery, carefully formed to create the impression of a face peering intently outward; she'd been painstaking about the expression, to make sure it was clear that this mystery person – wide eyed and curious – was looking through something. Out through a window, or up through water, at something totally unfamiliar and… irresistible. Like someone who lives in the core of the sun, finally getting close enough to the edge to see the dark and beautiful other._

_She goes into her own world when she's painting, and she had never shared it with anyone before. Not because she didn't want to, but because it was like trying to make herself grow taller. You can't make someone understand your art unless they just… do._

_You don't get lonely when you're making art; you don't realize how much time passes without talking to people, or seeing them. It's kind of like being asleep; hours seem to pass in an eye-blink for you, but for the people who want to talk to you, who miss you when you're not there – for them it's just regular, ticking-by-the-second old time. Emmett had knocked on her door just as it was getting dark, and for Bay it was like waking up from a dream, to see him stepping into her studio, smiling that heart-thumping smile, glad to see her in a way no one has ever been glad to see her before. It's the first time she has ever not resented someone interrupting her in the middle of finishing a piece. Against her will, her art-obsessed heart drops what she's doing and proclaims loyalty to Emmett. She is in so much trouble._

'_Hi,' he mouths, waving at her, walking over. He's a bit nervous. 'I hope you don't mind me coming over.'_

'_Of course not,' she grins, wiping her paint covered hands on a cloth. 'I missed you.'_

_She doesn't know when she got to the place where she misses him after two days apart, but it's true – she missed him. And his smile gets wider and she can see that he missed her too; that he came over even though he gets the art thing, that it's jarring to be disturbed, that after all, it was only a couple of days – he missed her. And God – being missed is the best feeling._

_He stands off to the side of her painting, and gestures to it, eyebrows raised – May I? And Bay nods yes before she realizes what she's doing – that it's unfinished and imperfect – and her mouth goes dry when he moves around to stand in front of it. She expected a serious expression, contemplative – but the second he sees it his mouth falls open and he looks at her and – he's impressed. She beams._

'_Bay, this is amazing,' he tells her. 'I can't believe you did this.'_

'_Really?' she asks – glad for once that he can't hear her voice, because it's squeaky. 'You think?'_

'_I do,' he grins. 'Wow. You're going to be so famous.'_

_She laughs. 'I live in hope.'_

_He gives her this look – like she's ridiculous to even doubt it, and he takes two steps towards her and kisses her, hands on her waist. And Bay is undone – Emmett is a great kisser on any day, but every now and then he will kiss her suddenly and it is in equal parts like being hit over the head and… like kissing. She reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him against her body, biting his lip, and he makes this great noise about it, and she shivers because she can do that to him. He smells of motor oil and grass; it's the sexiest thing she's ever heard of; she scrapes her fingers through his hair. She steps back and he follows her until her back hits a wall, hard; they break apart for a moment to breathe and he presses his lips against her collarbone, kissing his way up her neck – she laughs when it tickles and he thuds his forehead against her shoulder – he straightens up, amused, and signs 'You're not supposed to laugh.' But he's laughing too._

'_I can't help it!'_

_He raises his eyebrows. 'You just like laughing at me.'_

'_Well, yes,' she admits, and snickers at his fake-affronted face. 'But also, I'm ticklish.'_

'_Sure.'_

_She pretends to be offended at his scepticism, and gets an idea._

'_You just try and keep a straight face, then.'_

_She leans in and kisses his neck, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip; pressing her body against his. She feels him tense and smiles into his skin; she kisses higher and his hands go to her waist, holding her hard; she licks him and he laughs – she pulls back triumphantly._

'_You cheated,' he signs. _

'_All is fair in love and war,' she shrugs, and shadows fall in his eyes – not like a nightfall, but like a door closing on two people in a room alone together, cutting out everything but the only thing that matters. His gaze pierces her, and Bay has nowhere to hide, her face an inch from his. She can hear her heart pounding – or maybe it's his. She hears his breath quicken. And though those eyes are sharp as glass, his expression is so soft. Raw. He won't pretend not to understand what she might be saying, because he wants it – she can feel that, in the ache of his hands on her, and in his picking up that one word in an otherwise innocuous phrase. In the look of him. He wants her to say it. He's hoping she might mean it. Fiercely._

_And the words sit on her goddamn tongue. She thinks she does love him. It frightens her that he is always on her side; that he helped her try to find her father before they even knew each other, because he doesn't hang out with hearing people – so what did he see in her that was so different, and what if he was wrong? He chose her over Daphne – and nobody has ever done that before, ever – ever. So what if he changes his mind? What if she pisses him off, like she pisses off everyone, and he betrays her? She doesn't understand how his smile makes her smile, and how his language excites her, and how talking about art with him makes colours brighter and ideas a thousand times more real. How he can make her laugh with a gesture and make her head go quiet with a single expression. She feels like her body is more than a body when he touches her; even when he's almost touching her; even when she's just thinking about him touching her. And the idea of this ever being over is literally, physically painful._

'_That's Frank Farleigh,' she whispers. She fingerspells it, even though they're so close he can probably tell her words from the feel of her breath, because she needs him to know that just because she can't say it doesn't mean she doesn't feel it, and sign language for her, like speaking is for him, is a kind of 'I Love You' in itself. Not as good as the real thing. But the best she has, for now – until she's a little surer, and doesn't fear that saying it will end in heartbreak. _

_Confusion registers before disappointment – he looks at her questioningly. _

'_All is fair in love and war,' she says. 'Frank Farleigh said that.'_

_And God – he gets it. He lets himself have a second to be crushed – she can tell – and then he just smiles at her. He doesn't say it, even though she suspects strongly in that moment that he does love her – he can't, because it would be a tactic to try and get her to change her mind and say it back. She recognizes that, in hindsight. He had refrained from saying it then because she wasn't ready – but they both kind of knew. And that's why, a few weeks later, when he asks if they will ever fall out of love, he says it like it's a given that they currently are. _

Daphne taps her on the shoulder, and Bay turns her head.

'Do you know what he was doing out there?' Daphne signs, her expression carefully neutral. Bay gives her an incredulous expression, but she just raises her eyebrows, like – Yeah, I know how things are between you. But still, if anyone would know…

'No. I thought you might.'

She's envious of Daphne, that she's still someone Emmett might have told, or even invited. She'd thought maybe Daphne just hadn't wanted to say in front of the adults.

'I have no idea. I don't understand. He is a safe driver. This shouldn't have happened.'

They both fall into silence.

'I was mean to him the last time we spoke –'

'Don't,' Daphne snaps, her movements sharp. 'Don't go there.'

'I'm sorry,' Bay says, and she's furious at how shaky her voice is. Her fist circles 'sorry' on her chest and she keeps it there. 'I – what if –'

'He's going to be fine,' Daphne insists.

Technically, Bay is still mad at Daphne. She 'connected' with Noah when he was going out with Bay – and despite what everyone seems to think, losing Noah did matter to her. Okay, so she didn't like him as much as she pretended to, but he was on her side. He was someone with no baggage. He represented a new start. And then he went and got himself tangled up with Daphne, who let him, and suddenly he's Baggage City.

Selfishly, he had also been someone to hide behind. And losing him meant being out on a ledge.

But that's not the reason she's so angry – will probably still be angry, in the aftermath of all this, if Emmett's okay and she has the energy to feel anything at all. It's because Daphne let her think she'd found a home at Carlton and tried to rip it away. They are not okay.

But she is glad to have Daphne now, and she hopes Daphne is glad to have her. They take a minute – one more minute to hide from the women who need them to be strong, and to be strong for them – and then they go back to the chairs and wait some more.

It was roughly two in the morning when Daphne woke her up. It is 4:38 when a tall, white haired man in green scrubs comes out and approaches Emmett's people. Melody sees him the second he emerges from behind a far-off door down the corridor and bursts out of her chair, wild-eyed – Bay knows before she looks that this has to be the doctor, that this has to be news, and she stands up as fast as she can make herself, because her very bones are resisting the move towards someone who could tell her the thing that could shatter her forever. Her heart drums in her head, like it was cut out of her chest and put there. It shakes her vision. She feels her mother's fingers clinging to her wrist – to hold her up, to hold her back, she doesn't know. She stares at the doctor's face, tearing it apart with her eyes for some indication of… anything. But he looks only at Melody.

'Mrs Bledsoe, I'm Dr Jovey,' he says. He speaks slowly and deliberately, and Bay realizes someone has told him that Melody is deaf. 'I operated on your son –'

'How is he?' Melody snaps, her voice like lightning – Bay jumps at the sound of it. That rarely heard voice.

Dr Jovey glances around at the other people crowding around him, and clearly deduces that since Melody hasn't sent them away, she wants them to be here for this.

'The surgery went very well,' he said – and he even manages the hint of a smile.

Bay laughs. A blade of sound in the relieved murmurs of everyone else. The others are too busy listening to the doctor talk to look at her like the crazy person she is, and she hears as through water the man talking about the lack of internal bleeding, and how they've set his leg and realigned his shoulder, and how he's been taken to recovery, and he's expected to be totally fine – but Bay keeps laughing, and she's crying again, and she realizes she's not the only one. She and Melody laugh as the others listen. Melody can't hear her, but she can see her, and when she looks around at her son's loved ones to share her joy she sees Bay laughing just like she is and reaches out and grabs her hand.

'He's okay,' she half-screams, and Bay is so happy that she jumps forward and hugs her.

He's okay.

/ / / AN: This is the first chapter of a short story; a subsequent chapter or two are still to come. Things to be included are Emmett's perspective of certain things; what he was doing out on his motorcycle; and what happens when he wakes up.

I really do think Bay is just scared to trust Emmett again in the way she used to – I don't think she loves him even a bit less, and I really think she just needs something to shock her awake and make her take a risk. Bay is a lot more open about her feelings for Emmett in her head than she is outside of it.

I would love some feedback! Do you think everyone's in character? Is there anything you'd like to see Bay or Emmett's thoughts on? Please review with any comments you have about the story, and thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

/ / / A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read, favourited and reviewed! I'm really happy people seemed to approve of how I'm writing Bay and Emmett's relationship and I hope I can do it justice. This chapter is the second and was originally going to be the last, but I couldn't fit everything in, so there will be a third chapter. I hope you enjoy!/ / /

Bay had learned French at school; for a while she'd really loved it. It seemed to form a kind of poetry even when the meaning wasn't clear, just because the rhythm was so lovely, the sounds so passionate. She didn't study much as a rule, but she did for French; she had the idea that one day all her hard work would coalesce into this mental key which could unlock the grand old treasure chest that was 'the French language' as though it was something whole and hidden in her brain, and it would just start pouring from her lips, as naturally as English did – smooth and clean as spring water.

Her enthusiasm didn't last long – conjugation bored her, and she couldn't roll her r's, and after a while the throatiness started to annoy her. But most of all, she had no reason to use it, and she didn't care about grades for grades' sake. French lost its sheen for her.

Sign language was different. She'd never thought it was beautiful. She'd never thought about it at all – somehow people never do, just because there's no sunny country you can go where people speak it. And it snuck into her heart, quiet and slow. She learned to love it because it interpreted him for her. His patience and humour in the junkyard as he explained to her about Regina's guitar case and waited for her to understand him; his gestures were big and exaggerated and ridiculous, but instead of feeling like a first grader trying to read, he made it fun, and funny – an adventure. She had thought he was Daphne's silent friend, but she learned how loud he was; how determined to be heard, and how impossible to ignore. She learned not to think that people had nothing to say just because they didn't make a lot of actual noise. This is a boy who sees beauty in every frame of the world. The movements of his hands made her treasure every last little bit of communication between them, exactly because it was so hard at first ('Regina left boxes in our garage'; 'What if he's amazing?'; 'I… like you.').

They could let her in on why he was smiling that crazy-gorgeous smile of his when she didn't understand what was funny ('This is vegetable,' he had signed, grinning. 'This is virgin.'). They made her search his face for the expressions which were to his language like vocal intonation was to hers, and she came to know his face like a favourite book – except you can't love a book. All his stubbornness and pride and kindness and romanticism… she could never have known him if it weren't for his hands.

If she was ever asked to explain to someone just why she thought sign language was so wonderful, she wasn't sure she could do it in words – maybe in a painting, but maybe not. She can't explain the way Emmett's hand looked on his heart when he told her he loved her, or how he unstitched her when he said 'I will always come find you.' How a thousand moments between them were all wrapped up in the way he spoke. Silently.

She can't explain even to herself why she held it so close for its part in those moments and gave it no blame for others. The one time he'd treated her like an idiot – 'YOU. ARE. GOING. TO. DROP. THIS. THE. WAY. YOU. DROP. EVERYTHING.' The way he could make her feel like shit – 'Your street art already cost me my motorcycle. I think I'll sit this one out.' The time he had taken her by the hand while she was wearing the most beautiful dress she'd ever owned, and sat her down, and broke her fucking heart.

Sign language never poured out like spring water. She still wasn't as good as she wanted to be; but she admired it the same way she admired great art and photographs – and she loved it steadfastly, because even after things ended with Emmett, she had the roots of him still wound around her heart, changing the way she looked at the world; reminding her that they had been more than betrayal and heartbreak; humming through her blood as dizzying and sweet as champagne. A piece of him she could keep, while she was too scared to take the all of him that he was offering.

And it wasn't about how good she was, anyway ('I understand you.').

It bothers her now, as she sits by his hospital bed, that his hands are so quiet. She holds one of them in both of hers; it is so much bigger than hers, and warm, and callused from working on his bike and practicing the drums. She is used to all that. But the quiet, the still - that hits her like a punch. Even when they used to hold hands, he was often moving, winding and rewinding his fingers through hers, or just stroking her hand with his thumb. Emmett is proud. He would hate not being able to hold her hand back.

She feels a tap on her shoulder, and turns – it's Melody.

She looks exhausted; the lines of her face deeper somehow. Yet where only an hour ago she had been completely consumed by fear for her son, she now seems merely tired, as though her eyes want to close and she won't let them because she can't not be conscious when Emmett wakes up. Bay has had a front row seat to the viciousness that bleeds into Melody's love. She has never seen her so utterly patient before. So willing to wait.

'I'm glad you came,' she signs, and holds Bay's gaze for a moment, as if to say – I mean it.

'Thank you for letting me stay,' she replies.

Daphne had wanted to stay too, but the doctor had allowed only one non-family visitor. Which is a doctor's kind way of asking _Which of you does he love the most?_

Bay doesn't think he loves her more than Daphne; just differently, that's all. But when she heard that only one of them was allowed to go in, she had felt only panic at the idea that no-one would think it should be her – they're not together anymore. Melody and Regina and Kathryn – they'd all looked at the girls, because it was one or the other, as it always is, and they couldn't make the decision for them. And Daphne – Daphne heard the same question she did, and she said 'Bay'.

Bay knows it had hurt her to say that; she saw it on her face. She just couldn't bring herself to refuse, even though she feels slightly out-of-place. Daphne is still Emmett's best friend, and Bay is his ex-girlfriend. But there is a fierce, possessive part of her that thought _I would have had to fight you if you'd tried to take my place. _She had hugged Daphne before she left, because it's one of the most selfless things she's ever done – giving up her place to the girl who didn't belong there on paper, but would feel it the most if she wasn't allowed to stay. This ex-girlfriend of his.

There is more to it than that.

('We were bigger than my one mistake. We are bigger.')

The look on Melody's face is part sympathetic, part disbelieving.

'Emmett would be so happy that you're here,' she signs earnestly. 'It will mean a lot to him when he wakes up.'

'He was kind of mad at me before this happened,' Bay signs. 'He –'

Melody shakes her hands at Bay, cutting her off violently. Emphatically – 'That will not matter.'

Bay wants to believe her.

Melody sits on his other side. Her face as she looks at her son is so much sweeter than Bay has ever known it to be. All love, and the simple hope that he will wake up and be. Be a smart-ass. Be embarrassed. Be scared, even. Be mad. Be okay.

'He would hate this,' Bay mutters. 'Us all hanging around worrying about him. He'd hate it.'

'Yes, he would,' Melody agreed. Emmett would be so angry if he could see them right now. He'd tell them to go home – he's okay. He's always okay.

'This is the first time in his whole life that I've wished he wasn't deaf, just for a little while,' Melody signs. 'I wish I could talk to him and he could hear me.'

Bay can't help it. She doesn't want to, but she smiles at that, before she even realizes the corners of her mouth are curling, and then it's too late to hide it from Melody, who she decides probably won't be offended the way she might have been a few months ago. Before the divorce, and the pilot program, and Carlton. Before then, Melody wouldn't have said anything even slightly pro-hearing in front of Bay at all. Melody knows that Bay respects deaf culture and the pride that is its hallmark. She won't begrudge her a little bit of happiness at the realization that Melody, the fire breathing knight of the deaf, does not hate the idea of hearing on principle alone, and therefore maybe has one less reason not to like Bay, who can hear but tries not to let it define her.

Melody catches her smiling and her own lips twitch. Bay decides to take advantage of the moment of apparent good will between them and asks, 'Do you have any idea why he might have been out so late? Do you think it was just a joy ride?'

Melody shakes her head. 'No. Emmett would not risk my wrath for that. It was something specific.' She fingerspells the word 'specific'.

Bay bites her lip. 'What could he have been doing out on that road? Do you think he was meeting someone?'

'Bay. If he was going to sneak out in the middle of the night on his bike to go meet someone, it would have to be you.' She nods, as if to say yes, she's sure. Bay swallows.

'Well he wasn't. Obviously.'

She looks at Emmett.

He is so still. He's always pale, but now he is white. His hair is sticking up a little at the front, and without thinking, Bay reaches up and combs it down with her fingers; she feels ridiculously brave for doing it in front of Melody, who she sneaks a glance at as she draws her hand away. She doesn't seem to mind.

'The only clue I have,' Melody says, 'is that he had spray paint with him. But even if he was doing street art; there's nothing to paint out there. '

_**Not Long Ago**_

_The great thing about being an artist when your girlfriend is also an artist is that she has something intelligent to say about everything you make. Also, she'll let you boss her around when you take pictures of her because she respects your artistic vision, and it takes you requesting she undo the first three buttons of her shirt for her to realize your vision is occasionally compromised by less professional considerations. And then she'll undo them anyway._

_Still. Bay gets this look on her face when she settles into being photographed. At first she's always a little nervous, and when Bay gets nervous, her sense of humour goes wacky._

'_I look like an escaped mental patient running from the hounds,' she signs, and she crosses her eyes, giggling. Emmett grins. _

_It is almost dark, and he has her under a willow tree in the park, half-concealed from his camera by ropes of leaves. She's wearing a lacy white dress that is only a shade or two lighter than skin that is like silk, and her hair is curly and tangling with the willow fronds when they blow in the wind, and she looks the kind of beautiful you're taught is up to movie magic and doesn't really exist. Just looking at her is making his mouth go dry. And he knows he really wants the picture because he's resisting the urge to walk over and tangle his hands in that hair; grip her waist through that dress like he can make the fabric disappear and touch her warm body with nothing between them. Kiss her really, really hard._

'_You,' he signs, 'look amazing. Now just look at me.'_

_Bay, who ducks out of family photos at every opportunity, and reacted to the news that he'd seen her childhood photos with horror that was half feigned and half real, valiantly tries to look serene, because she takes art very seriously, and because he asked her to. He can see the effort it takes for her to smooth out her face, but she manages, though he can tell she's pursing her lips to stop from cracking up. Her eyes flick up and meet his – he snaps the first shot and she flinches, but her face doesn't break. A tendril of her hair moves across her eyes in the wind and he snaps again. And slowly, she settles. Like she always does when she forgets that she is Bay Kennish, erecter of walls, master of the witty comeback and the sarcastic deflection – and just exists._

_Gradually, the self-consciousness ebbs away and her whole body relaxes; she floats her arms out to her sides and brushes her fingers through the leaves – they rustle and swing and give her an idea – she starts spinning, arms out, careening around under the veil of leaves in a blur, like a mad fairy; he takes a shot every second, catching her in every point of her spins – an indistinct white blur and a cloud of black hair seen through a haze of green – her smile and her eyes still clear. Bay is beautiful, but she is not graceful; she's the first person to say that she's a terrible dancer, and even Emmett, who can be inspired by the way she sinks into a chair or slings her bag over her shoulder, has to agree (he thinks it's cute when she tries to dance). She can't plan her movements well enough. But this – moving just to move, with abandon, without trying to be graceful – she doesn't miss a step. _

_She laughs._

_He would let her spin forever if he could. Long after his camera batteries went flat. For as long as she wanted. Bay when she's free – that is Bay at her happiest. He hopes it has a little to do with the fact that he's watching her. He hopes she can feel that he sees all the things her family sees – how different she is from them, how much wilder, how much willing to question the things they pretend don't exist, and that he doesn't find her lacking. He finds her extraordinary._

_She slows down, seemingly undazed, and faces the leaves; then parts them like a curtain and just stares at him. She has forgotten he has a camera – she is looking at him. Just him._

_Emmett's heart is pounding so hard it hurts; in a good way, like pressing your thumb into a bruise that was worth getting. Her eyes seem darker than usual; he has to photograph that, he can't let this image be a memory alone. Every bit of her; the long, smoothly curved legs, her bare feet. A lot of her is bare in this dress. Arms, shoulders, a tantalizing amount of her chest. And her face – God, she has never looked at him like this before. Shades of this. _

_But never exactly like this._

_She starts walking towards him. And suddenly the camera is heavy in his hands, full of all the shots he needs and then some, and he drops it lightly onto the grass and she gives him a wicked smile, showing all her teeth, and breaks into a run. He could catch her or he could let her knock him down._

_Both are appealing, but he lets her knock him down, and doesn't regret it. She jumps and wraps her arms around his neck, bowling him over; he hits the ground hard enough to take his breath away, but he doesn't care; she is pressed against him, chest to chest, and he doesn't care if she pushes him six feet under. She has one leg between his legs and the other hooked around his knee, and her eyes are shining at him. _

_He loves that he can point a camera at her and make her feel this beautiful._

_His cheeks hurt, he's smiling so much. He reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and she leans her face into his hand._

'_We should do photoshoots more often,' she says, and it has gotten to the point where he may as well be hearing her voice, he can read her lips so well. 'Because that was fun.'_

_He winds both hands through her hair, and as gently as he can manage with urgency pumping through his veins, pulls her face down and kisses her. He did not realize until he pressed their lips together that they are both panting, and he bites her bottom lip as she gasps for air, her breath hot against his mouth, before they are flush together again. He is seeing red; carefully, he hooks his arm around her waist and flips them around so she is lying on the grass and he is braced against her. He doesn't even know how to kiss her as hard as he wants to right now; kissing does not seem like enough, though the taste of her tongue is making him shiver. _

_He feels a vibration go through her chest and knows that in the world of the hearing, she's probably just made an incredibly sexy sound._

_Fuck, her hands are under his shirt. She feels unbelievably hot; it can't be normal to be this hot. Her fingernails scrape down his back; it hurts. He wants it to._

_He slides his hand up under her dress. Over her hip; a strip of cloth interrupts her skin. Her underwear._

_His other hand tries to find purchase on the ground and touches grass._

_They're in a park._

_Bay doesn't care, or doesn't remember, but Emmett, who is holding everything he's ever wanted in his hands right now, has to remember. He has to. This isn't going to happen in a park. Not for Bay._

_Slowly, he moves his hand. Out from under her dress. Up to her cheek. He holds her face as they kiss, and he tries to calm down, though his heart is thundering and Bay is scratching at his shoulder blade under his shirt in a way that feels really, really good. He breaks the kiss and presses his lips gently to her jaw; her cheek; and then he straightens up a little, looks her in the eye. Her face is flushed and she's breathing hard; her lips are swollen; her hair is everywhere. She looks almost drunk. She looks unbelievable. And he does not – does not – want to stop._

'_We have to stop. We're in the middle of Trenton Park,' he signs._

_Her eyes fall shut; her hands still on his back and she lets her palms go flat against his skin. She takes a breath; and after a moment opens her eyes._

'_I know,' she says. 'We… have to stop.'_

_He rests his forehead against hers, and mouths 'We can start again anytime.' _

_A smile blooms on her face. 'Good.'_

_He moves off her and onto his back on the grass, because staying on top of her is not good for his willpower. _

_They stay there for a while, neither of them wanting to move. The sun disappears in that reluctant, don't-make-me-go-to-bed way the sun sometimes has, when the day doesn't seem long enough. They watch the moon start to grow brighter, as everything else grows darker. And when it starts to get cold, they get up and begin walking, back to where his bike is parked on Blue River Road._

_He's the one who expresses himself with his hands. Bay has a whole other language to use. But, though not an ASL prodigy, she can make promises, and she knits her fingers through his, promising that there will be a time when they're not lying on the grass in the middle of the park. Maybe soon. _

_~*S*~_

There is pressure on his hand, he can feel it.

Everything fucking hurts. He knows because he can't pinpoint the exact source of pain; he can't muster the mental energy to distinguish the leg that hurts from the leg that doesn't hurt, or the shoulder, or the side of his chest; he just knows, vaguely, that everything hurts.

He recognizes that he's just woken up, but he doesn't remember going to sleep, and his bed doesn't feel like his bed. He feels like he's taking a test, and the answer might be to open his eyes, but it might not.

He thinks he's probably drugged and is quite proud of himself for working it out.

He was dreaming, and in the dream he was in a castle; he's never been in a castle before, but this one, he knows, is where he lives. He's walking down a corridor made of white stone that gleams coldly like packed snow, and after a while – just after he starts to wonder what, exactly, he's looking for – he finds it. A door. Carved neatly into the wall and almost invisible except for the handle. Right – _this _is what he was waiting for.

He opens the door, expecting to find his bedroom, but instead he almost walks right into Bay.

'What are you doing?' she laughs, blocking him from entering. 'You're supposed to keep looking.'

She looks fantastic in a white dress that he's seen her in before, and despite the fact that she is the last person he expected to find here, somehow he is not surprised. Of course she's here.

He feels her hand slip into his, warm in this very cold castle. She steps out of his room and shuts the door behind her, tugging him after her.

'Come on. It might be the next door.'

They walk for a while, hand in hand. It's nice. They haven't done this in ages.

He misses this.

He feels like he should say something. Surely if he was ever going to think of the right thing, it would be now, in a castle, with her in that dress. If he was ever going to unlock that box in his brain where the words that would make her want to be with him were waiting, bright and heavy like unspent doubloons, surely it has to be now. He feels like he's been pounding his hands on the lid of that box for years. Surely it has to be now.

He is preparing to take his hand out of hers so he can tell her – the right words will come, he's sure. But suddenly she stops, and turns to look at him, eyes full of happiness.

'Here we go,' she says, nodding her head towards another door. 'Open it.'

And he does. He can't refuse her.

Behind the door is Bay.

His mouth falls open and he turns to look at where she'd been standing a second ago – she's gone.

'Don't look so surprised,' she signs, when he turns back to her; half confused, half alarmed.

'Bay, what are you doing?'

'I'm helping you look.'

And just like she had before, she steps neatly out from the doorway and takes his hand, pulling him along in pursuit of the next door.

He'd thought he almost had a handle on what he was going to say – the perfect words that would fix everything – but the surprise of her standing behind the second door has rattled him. He still holds tight to her hand; he still follows her, thinking, sifting through the words he's already used, like _sorry _and _we are bigger. _They're true, but they didn't work.

When they get to the third door, he's not surprised to find Bay behind it again. It is the same when they reach the fourth door. Each time, the distance between the doors grows shorter. There's a fifth, a sixth, a seventh. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Eventually he loses count. Behind each door is Bay. He stops expecting anything else. He doesn't _want _anything else, anyway. He's fine with walking around like this. He'll play along with whatever game she's playing.

Only she doesn't seem to think it's a game. She's smiling and laughing with eyes that are slightly too bright and pulling him behind her like this door will hold something besides her. She seems sure that she can make him want something besides her. She won't let him into any of the rooms.

'We have to keep looking,' she reminds him. And he keeps getting pulled along in the current of her determination, gripping her hand as her eyes grow wider and she tries not to let him see that she's getting confused, but he can tell; she bites her lip when she steps out from the next doorway.

'Stop it,' he signs, interrupting her as she opens her mouth to say _Maybe the next door! _'They're all the same, Bay. I just want _you.'_

And oh, the look on her face when she hears that. She's not wearing the white dress anymore; her hair is not in perfect curls, but flat on one side and tousled on the other. She's wearing pajamas.

He registers, with a shock, that he is not dreaming anymore, when he sees his mother standing next to her, looking happier than he's seen her in a long time; since before his dad left. She leans down in front of Bay and kisses him on the forehead. His mother, Melody, the great and dangerous, is shaking – this fills him with horror and he tries to lift his hand so he can reassure her, but it is too heavy for him and so he just meets her eyes, trusting she'll know he's okay. And she beams, so he knows she does and he turns his gaze to Bay.

She looks completely exhausted and the expression on her face is something he has not seen in a long time. It's like her strings have been cut and she is loose for the first time in forever; she can feel what she wants to feel. Her eyes are darker somehow, and they stay on his long past what is normal, or socially acceptable, or anything but longing; she's crying, but she seems glad. She's looking at him like she's in love with him, and his heart bursts in his chest because a big part of him really thought she wasn't anymore.

He feels her hand slip into his, and he has enough strength to squeeze it; her smile gets impossibly big and with her other hand, she signs.

'You scared me.'

~*S*~

_Emmett still misses her._

_It seems cosmically unfair that she's gotten more beautiful since they broke up. And that's not heartbreak talking. It's not longing or idealization or anything. Though maybe it's more technically correct to say that she has always been beautiful in the particular ways he's just starting to notice, but only recent events have equipped him to understand just how a laugh from the person you betrayed can make you feel as light as air, or how her sitting next to you at the lunch table feels like the kind of impossible good fortune that should only come with winning lottery tickets. _

_He is seeing her through a sheen of grace now, and that's why when she accuses him of lying, and being jealous, it hits him hard. It's been months since he's let himself even be annoyed at Bay. He warded off hurt because he doesn't deserve to feel it. He wouldn't even consider anger. And he'd thought that those feelings had drained away, but maybe they were just bottled up because he looks at her and for the first time in a long time, he's just mad._

_And he tells her he won't wait anymore._

_He says it like he's releasing himself from her; he knows that's not fair. She hasn't even been trying to hold onto him. She never promised him another chance. It was desperation that made him cling to the hope she'd give him one anyway._

_His mom had been able to tell something was wrong when he got home, but she thinks it's about Carlton. And yeah, what's happening to Carlton pisses him off, but school ends, eventually, even if you're irrevocably changed by what happens to you there. Whether he finds another girl or not – as impossible as the idea seems – as hard as it is to imagine ever wanting one – being without Bay is a state which he is beginning to think might be permanent._

_Who benefits from his refusal to give up?_

_He has spray paint still hidden in his garage, and that night, long after his mother goes to bed, he stuffs it into a backpack and rides out to Blue River Road._

/ / / AN: Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear if anyone has any theories about what Emmett was doing out on that road now it's getting a bit clearer. If you have time, I'm also interested to hear what people think about my dialogue to text ratio; I have a feeling I'm rambling a bit. This chapter isn't dialogue heavy (unlike the next) – was it enough to keep you interested? I hope you enjoyed this chapter – the next one should be up fairly soon. Please review and let me know what you think!

'


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